


everything not bolted down is fair game (too bad no one told you who else is playing)

by wolf_zer0



Series: minor felonies au [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Real World, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Cat Burglar Dream, Crimes & Criminals, Dream isn't Evil, Gen, He's a dick but he's not completely irredeemable in this, Important characters are mentioned but not enough to warrant their whole tag, Museums, No Beta We Die Like Wilbur in Skyblockle, Robbery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:35:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29952117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolf_zer0/pseuds/wolf_zer0
Summary: Dream's been running jobs since he was tall enough to reach locks and fast enough to scale a building sub-fifteen minutes.  There's no one else who knows the game as well as him. (Technoblade might beg to differ, but no one asked for his opinion).  He's slicker, he's smarter, he's just all aroundbetterthan all these morons who somehow think they're in his league.  When he decides to steal the Manberg Emerald from the Museum of Natural History, he thinks it'll finally show the world who the top dog really is.(Turns out, there's already a pack of top dogs.  And they're all too willing to knock him down several pegs.)
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: minor felonies au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2202897
Comments: 12
Kudos: 17





	everything not bolted down is fair game (too bad no one told you who else is playing)

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone in this is based on characters or personas, not actual content creators. Should any of the creators mentioned in this express any discomfort in this kind of thing, I will remove this and any other works of this nature immediately. All relationships are strictly platonic. Any and all grammar/editing mistakes and typos are my own and I apologize! Also (just as a precaution) - I do not give any reader permission to send to/talk about my works or this AU with the CC's mentioned. If they find it on their own, that's fine.

_ “...We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming with a breaking news report. Police have announced their findings that Nightmare, one of INTERPOL’s most wanted, is most likely behind the recent robbery at the National Museum of Art...” _

_ “...Nightmare’s true identity remains a mystery. Despite years of activity and dozens of burglaries attributed to him from across the world, no leads have been found. The only evidence authorities have is his signature smiley face symbol spray painted on the wall next to the space where the stolen painting, valued at around $155 million USD, had previously hung...” _

_ “... Investigators believe that his next target is the Manberg Emerald. The massive gemstone, estimated to be worth nearly a quarter million dollars, is currently on display at the Museum of Natural History…” _

_ “... In order to stave off the potential theft, museum officials have moved the Emerald to a secure containment facility within the building, far from public access…” _

_ “...The police are asking the public to watch for any unusual persons near or around the Museum, and report any suspicious activity immediately…” _

  
  
  


The night air is cool and crisp around him as he stands at the very edge of an office building’s roof. The city hums beneath him, thousands of feet down. Headlights glimmer against the black of the pavement as people go about their night, mindlessly chattering to one another. They continue their lives without a single glance up.

His silhouette blends seamlessly into the moonless sky. The wind is calm, ruffling the edge of his hoodie just slightly. The smog and bright lights of the big city hide all hints of him from view. It’s the perfect night for a felony. Cocksure grin painted behind the blank smile of a mask, he pulls down the edge of his hood, tilts forward over the edge, and drops. 

The wind whistles past his ears as he falls, office windows flickering before his eyes on the way down. The dull roar of the city sharpens. He doesn’t flinch as the lights on the road grow brighter and brighter. 

The line clipped to his harness pulls taut. There’s a sudden, sharp jerk as he reaches the end of the rope, and all movement stops. He hangs headfirst in the space between earth and sky, just above the roof of the Museum. With a deftness born only from years of practice, he releases the carabiner and drops safely down onto the roof. Footsteps near silent, he creeps closer to the grating. Strains his ears for any sign of trouble. Nothing. Not a soul notices anything amiss. Perfect. 

There’s a reason Dream’s the best in the game. Not a single person could be considered a contender, let alone a real opponent. (Technoblade’s the closest thing, but the guy’s about as easy to rile up as a brick wall. With the social skills to match.) He pulls up the grate he’d found and loosened during his recon and slinks down into the vents.

He loves his crew, he really does. He and Sapnap have been running together since they were kids. They learned how to pick a mark together, how to stitch a wound together, how to run circles around the competition together. Dream honed his sticky fingers, Sapnap taped his fists. They clawed their way out of obscurity, covered in blood and sweat and tears. They took in the view from the top, and they laughed.

George was a recent addition, but not an unwelcome one. Sitting behind his many screens and fingers dancing over the keyboard, he worked his magic in ways neither of them could even imagine. He barely breaks a sweat busting through the most robust security programs. The three of them are a well oiled machine, breezing past crew after crew on the race to infamy.

Dream really loves his crew, they’re his family. But sometimes he thinks he loves running solo even more.

The rush of the chase, the thrill of the hunt, the danger that comes with dancing on the razor’s edge of success and failure where a single mistake can send him plummeting to the ground. It’s fucking  _ addicting _ and Dream is hooked. 

He doesn’t do it often, just often enough to satisfy the itch under his skin. Sometimes, he makes it interesting by letting his crew in on the hunt. George will try to sabotage the security systems, Sapnap will stalk the halls ready to strike. They’ll even recruit help from other crews to add the extra adrenaline he craves.

He’s running without help or hindrance tonight. His only help if things go south is the gear on his back and his ability to get the hell outta dodge. Of course, there’s no real chance things could ever go south.

As Dream soundlessly shimmies his way through the ventilation shafts, his mask’s heads-up display maps out the twists and turns leading towards the Museum’s storage area. It’s honestly kind of pathetic how easy it is to get to the vault. He thought a place with so many priceless artifacts would pose more of a challenge. He may need to find another mark that poses more of a challenge, but first he needs to get what he came for. 

He finds the vent he needs quickly, and gently removes the covering. Dropping down from the ceiling, he checks the security camera feed in the corner of the HUD to make sure no one’s watching. All he sees is the lone security guard snoring in the breakroom, teetering dangerously in his chair with his head thrown back.  _ It’s just too easy. _

He picks his way through the restricted area of the archives, careful to stay out of camera sight lines. He doesn’t touch a single thing, doesn’t dare leave a tangible mark that he’s been here. Sapnap calls it paranoia, George calls it perfectionism. He calls it pragmatism. Makes the chase that much more enjoyable, watching the authorities scramble for even a fragment of evidence. It’s not fun anymore if he’s not in control.

The vault is massive, with thick steel walls and a shiny control panel. Dream snorts at the laughable protections. This is just so sad. The fact that they thought  _ this thing _ could keep him out? The model's from the late 80s. Hysterical. He grew up cracking these things. He could crack it in his sleep. He has before. It’s fucking child’s play. 

It barely takes him a minute to get inside. He grins. Add one massive emerald to his stash, thank you very much. He swings open the door with a flourish.

  
  
  


The vault is empty. 

Empty, except for a single sheet of lined notebook paper.

  
  
  


The piercing shriek of the alarm drowns out his screech of outrage. In his camera feed, the security guard jerks to awareness, eyes wild and limbs flailing. A warning pops up on the HUD telling him the police are on the way, ETA 5 minutes or less. The paper flutters to the floor as he turns on his heel to make a very quick escape. 

Rage bubbles in his chest as he leaps through a nearby window and into the starless night. Running through the alleys and leaping fences, he spits curses at whoever decided to mess with the king.

The sheet of paper lies hidden where it slid beneath a locked supply closet door. As the authorities search the building for any signs of the thief, they somehow overlook the sliver of pristine white under dusty boxes of records. Scribbled on the abandoned sheet is a single line of writing, scratched letters and dark ink mocking in their simplicity.

**_git gud loser >:3_ **

  
  
  


Far from the museum sits a warehouse. It’s been vacant for years, slowly rotting away as the world continued on without it. 

It’s not vacant anymore.

Light from nearby streetlamps streams through the dusty windows, casting watery shadows across a surprisingly comfortable living space. A large, dark wood table takes up most of the room, surrounded by five mismatched chairs with the contents of a first aid kit scattered across it. The kitchen is a mess, with dishes left in the sink, take-out boxes piled around the trash can, and notes like  _ “Whoever ate the last of my yogurt, I’m coming for your eyes dipshit!”  _ and  _ “Please don’t forget to grab some milk at Sam’s, we’ve been eating dry cereal for almost a week :(” _ stuck to the fridge. The living room has a massive couch, blue fabric worn soft from use and stained in several places, set up in front of a huge television set. Some kind of animated movie is playing, all bright colors and high energy musical numbers.

Climbing gear hangs on the wall across from the kitchen, harnesses and ropes and winches carefully sorted and organized for ease of use. A wall of computer screens sits nearby, mounted over two desks covered in the remains of caffeinated beverages and scraps of circuitry. A closet is tucked into a corner, uniforms and wigs and all sorts of accessories spilling out onto the floor. A well loved punching bag swings slightly next to a dented lead pipe that leans against the wall, gloves and hand wraps nestled into nearby cubbies. 

Rather than using the couch, the warehouse’s current occupants are tangled together on the floor in front of the TV. It’s hard to tell where one starts and another ends in the pile of limbs and snarky comments. A lanky blond with fading bruises on his cheekbone and a bandage across his nose is squashed in the center, grousing about some stupid line and earning a pinch from a shorter brunet curled up against his side. Another blond in a deep purple hoodie snorts as he types away on his phone, head pillowed on the brunet’s thigh. A girl wearing a green t-shirt snipes back as she runs her fingers through the two-toned hair of the boy stretched out behind them. 

A half-open backpack lies across the kitchen counter, carelessly tossed aside in the mind-numbing high that follows a successful job. The brilliant green facets of a fist-sized emerald nestled inside the fabric glitter in the light of the TV screen as the five jeer and taunt the characters. 

_ Dream may think he runs the game, but he’s not even a player. A single King can only win so often before they’re forced to fold. _

_ And nothing beats a Royal Flush. _

**Author's Note:**

> *blows a kiss to the dsmp bb discord* for you, lovelies <3
> 
> the nickname for this is "crime kids" if you want an idea of how this is gonna shake out lmao
> 
> my brain has decided to drop kick me into the center of the earth, so updates on FSiS and WoM will be few and far between. MF is giving me the happy chemical so that's what i'm gonna be focusing on for right now. thanks for coming along for the ride!
> 
> check me out on tumblr (wolf-zer0) and twitter (wolfzer02) if you wanna talk!


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